


Our Stories

by happydaysahead



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Books, Cute, I dont know how to tag, I think?, Johnlock - Freeform, Library, M/M, Modern Setting, One Shot, Parallel Universes, Romance, Uni!lock, University Students, alternate first meeting, for hiatustory april challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 04:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10677414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happydaysahead/pseuds/happydaysahead
Summary: Sherlock and John meet for the first time in their university library, purely by chance! Or perhaps there's something larger at play...





	Our Stories

**Author's Note:**

> This story can be interpreted as a reincarnation AU or a parallel universe AU, both work! Also, I used @callie-ariane's transcripts for reference so a big shout out!

“Excuse me, I think you have my book.”

John Watson hesitantly approached the sleeping figure. Normally he would not be so rude as to disturb a fellow student (everyone knows sleep is hard-earned in undergrad), but he really needed that book. The lanky figure slowly unfolded himself from his contorted position on the couch, removing the text from where it had been covering his eyes. John watched him casually ruffle his unruly brown curls and stretch languorously, all long limbs and pale skin–

John looked away, blushing. The back of the library was empty, save for them two. Bookshelves lined the back and far walls, filled with older reference texts and first edition publications. Two couches faced each other by the fireplace at the front, the light from which cast the small room in a dreamlike yellow glow. By now the student on the couch was fully awake, and sat with his knees to his chest and a puzzled expression on his face.

“ _A Study in Scarlet: Cellular Mechanisms of Lethal Blood Agents._ What use do you have for this book?” He read the cover and flipped the book over in his hands, as if confirming that both the front and back mentioned the same title.

 “I’m working on a detective novel. It’s research for one of the cases,” John explained, smiling sheepishly. “I had to request the book specifically from another university,” he added, just in case the student wanted to borrow it as well. “Which, by the way, why do you have it? I was told it would be here reserved under my student number.”

“Oh was that what the number tag was for, I threw it away,” the student brushed the question aside casually. “But of course, I should have known that would be the reason why an English major is in the engineering library.” He leaned back and offered John the book, closing his eyes again to signal the end of the conversation.

John laughed at his response and received the book happily but sat down opposite the student instead. His curiosity had been piqued by the casual statement. “How did you know I was in English? I’m John by the way, John Watson. What’s your name?”

The student opened his eyes again and sat back up, surprised John had decided to stay. “My name is Sherlock. I’m biochem engineering. And if you really want to know, I deduced it from your behaviour. Although I don’t understand why you chose English over premed, since you clearly have interests there as well. The rugby scholarship should cover the costs of any program you were accepted into, after all.”

John gaped at Sherlock, thoroughly impressed. “That was…amazing!”

Sherlock blinked, surprised again, but couldn’t help smiling at the compliment. He slowly uncrossed his legs and posed his hands under his chin contemplatively. It seems he needed to re-evaluate John. “Why thank you, though that’s not what people normally–“

“ –wait, your name’s Sherlock? That’s the name of the detective in my book! Well, his first name is William but he goes by his middle name Sherlock.” John grinned at the coincidence. “What are the chances!”

Sherlock raised his eyebrow. His smile threatened to grow for some reason, but he resisted. What are the chances indeed. “John, while I’m flattered by your interest I consider myself married to my work.” He frowned to himself at the last bit. ‘Married to his work?’ What a weird choice of words. “What I mean to say is, I’m unattached at the moment, to focus on my studies.”

John quickly realized the misunderstanding. “Oh no, I wasn’t um, that wasn’t, but yes of course school is important. Uhhh, and it’s fine, it’s all fine.” He finished lamely, internally kicking himself. They both managed eye-contact for about three seconds before they gave up holding back their laughter. Strangely, Sherlock felt a sense of déjà vu. Why did the exchange seem so familiar? He also had a sudden craving for Italian food. Ridiculous. Time to change the subject.

“What is your book actually about?” Sherlock was genuinely interested now. While he’s heard worse pick-up lines, John did seem to be telling the truth. Besides, there were worse ways to spend his time than chatting with John.

Seeing this as a second chance, John made sure to mentally take his foot out of his mouth before he answered. “Well, it’s from the perspective of a soldier recently invalidated from war returning to London. It’s a bit of an ethical and humanitarian commentary in that way, actually,” John added, hoping to sound a bit more impressive.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock challenged. His voice seemed to echo. The sensation of déjà vu intensified.

“Afghanistan, as a war medic with the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers.” John shot back. He had done his research. “Actually, researching the character was what helped me confirm my thoughts about pre-med. I wanted to look into med school and joining the army to cover the costs, but as I read up on the accounts and experiences of others I felt like all the injuries, violent deaths were…”

“Enough for a lifetime.” Sherlock finished for him. He reached up to tie his scarf but then realized he wasn’t wearing one. Was he about to go somewhere? He shook his head and tried to focus on the conversation.

“More than a lifetime,” John was agreeing. “Far too much. Besides, if I’m looking for excitement I can live it through my stories. It sounds ridiculous but I can imagine the events I’m writing so vividly. I haven’t even finished the first novel but I already have the storyline set for a series - ” He realized he had sidetracked, and quickly returned to the topic at hand. “Anyway, the soldier is introduced to William Sherlock by chance through a mutual acquaintance, and they decide to flatshare…”

John continued to explain the duo’s first meeting and case, but Sherlock could no longer make out his words. John’s words seemed to cause the echoing inside his mind to increase, rendering all sounds into incomprehensible noise. The library room blurred out of focus. Suddenly, images surrounded him. He felt as if he were standing in front of a long hallway, or perhaps a tunnel, and was being bombarded by a train wreck of sensations…

 

_A soldier, a doctor. His doctor._

_“Want to see some more?”_

_“God yes!”_

_They were partners in crime, catching criminals, tearing through London–_

_– an invisible cabbie, silently hunting the streets, up and down, A to Z, H. O. U. N. D.–_

_– tea. The smell of tea in the morning, breakfast at the table, idle chatter, John with newspaper in hand handing him a mug but the mug had cracks –_

_– a museum, cracks in the teapot, cracking the code –_

_“The average human memory on visual matters is only 62% accurate,”_

_“I took a photograph.” John reaching in his pocket, pulling out –_

_A phone, willingly given, time stopping as he gazed at the doctor for the first time, sharp haircut, tanned, limp clearly psychosomatic, then later on his own phone, sending a text, [Come at once if convenient, if inconvenient, come]  –_

_– anywhere, can’t find Bluebell anywhere, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, please please please can you –_

_“Help me. He was so…his voice…”_

_“No no no no tell me nothing about him” no no No NO **NO** –_

_Five pips, a countdown, a game, a password, I AM LOCKED. Locked but what is the key code?_

_“Partita number one. Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach.”_

_The sound of violin, music floating through the flat, Christmas, New Year’s, a fear, an unspoken sadness, unshed tears, overflowing water –_

_“I’m glad no one saw that.”_

_“Hmm?”_

_“You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool!”_

_–But the water is louder now, drowning out the violin, or perhaps it is the wind from a great height, from the sight of the angels, but think, **THINK** for a second, which side? Which pill?_

_[Could be dangerous. – SH]_

_A sensation of falling…_

 

“How does it end?” Sherlock interrupted He had propelled himself forward and was now halfway off his seat, half kneeling in front of John with a hand gripping John’s armrest and the other on his knee. He did not know why he had seen those images or what they meant, but he had to know what happened to the detective and his doctor.

John was currently saying something about a Mark Stamford (Matthew? Malcolm? Martin?). He startled at the sudden interruption, but did not retreat. “It ends in a tragedy,” he finally says with some reluctance. “I really wanted to give them a happy ending, but I can’t picture anything else. In the end, a criminal mastermind outplayed them both. The detective was forced to tell the world that he was a fraud, and the doctor could only watch helplessly as he…as he gave up.” John took a deep breath, leaning in further towards Sherlock as if he needed comfort. “Sorry, sometimes I get sucked in by my characters,” he explained. “Can you believe that I once had a nightmare about him..falling…” he laughed nervously and took another deep breath, closing his eyes as he covered his face with his hands. Their foreheads were almost touching now.

“You’re wrong,” Sherlock murmured, unable to look away. He didn’t understand how, but he _knew_. This was not how their story ended. He would not let it end like this. John looked up, breath catching. The relief that came with those words was like a weight lifting off his chest – a weight he never realized he carried. John wanted to believe him badly, but he also didn’t want to scare Sherlock off. He tried to sound surprised and amused.

“I’m sorry? It is my story Sherlock,” he said slowly. He tried hard not to notice the space – or rather lack of space – between them. Sherlock did however, and stood up from his half-crouched position before something as ridiculous as a blush gave him away. He circled around the back of John’s couch as he explained the earlier statement, trying to clear his head.

“What I mean is, it would be too much of a shame to end the story on a tragedy when there’s so much potential for more between the characters. The detective had to have jumped for another reason – and he must have survived. He would never leave his doctor with the criminal mastermind’s network still intact.” Sherlock absentmindedly trailed his hand along the back of John’s couch as he completed his rotation, coming face to face again. John leaned back into the motion and looked up.

“Are you offering to help with my project?” He ask, smiling.

“Naturally,” Sherlock raised his chin. “Consider me a consultant of sorts. Deduction is an exact science, and without my expertise you would probably end up with boring sensational cases and contaminate all the reasoning with your romanticism.” He raised his eyebrow, daring John to say something. John decided to rise to the challenge.

“Well, just because I didn’t choose the premed program doesn’t mean I’m hopeless in the sciences. I’ll have you know I’m certified in advanced first aid training and have a good foundation in anatomy for that manner.” He stood up, closing the distance again. Sherlock blinked, resisting the urge to lean back (or forward). “But,” John added, “I wouldn’t be opposed to working with a consultant, especially if it means we get to spend more time together.” He winked, growing confident as Sherlock could not move in time to hide his blush again.

Now Sherlock stepped back, nervous. “I’m sure we can find time to…clue…for looks…together.” His voice faded with all coherent thought as John stepped forward again, backing him into his couch. Grasping at the last strands of his dignity Sherlock dove for a strategic retreat. “I – I have class right now so I have to run, but let’s meet again tomorrow, say, same time same place? Great talk, had the best of times, really.” He stuck out his hand awkwardly, trying to regain some of his space and his breath. John laughed again and shook the proffered hand.

“I’ll come, even if inconvenient,” he said conspiratorially. As he watched Sherlock’s coat flare out dramatically behind his retreating figure, he had a sudden inspiration for the detective’s outfit. John sat back down and took out his laptop. It was time to re-write their story.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed the story! This is actually my first published work for the fandom :). I appreciate any kudos, comments, and feedback. Feel free to message me here or find me on Tumblr @hollyberrypie!


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